Remembrance and Regret
by Ilinga
Summary: An elderly Aragorn reflects upon his memories of Boromir.


I originally wrote this in 2004 if I remember correctly. It was my first (and only) attempt at fan fiction, but I never actually posted it anywhere. I recently found it again on a disc and, after giving it the once over, decided to finally let it see the light of day. It is based on a mix of both the books and the movies. It is completely unbeted, and I apologise to those who have a better grasp of punctuation than I. :)

******

It was my fault.

After all these long years I still blame myself. Boromirs death was avoidable; I stand convinced of that. If only I had been able to look past my own petty concerns. Petty? Was the fate of Middle-Earth petty? No, it was not. But these happy years since the defeat of the Dark Lord have dulled the memory of that uncertain time so that, in contrast to his despair, it does indeed seem petty; at least to this old man.

These happy years. Yes, they have been filled with a sleepy joy as seasons rolled by, one after another. Sauron vanquished, the world of men renewed; this once great kingdom again free and flourishing. I gaze upon it every day from the height of the tower of Ecthelion, just like he once was want to do. I see the sun shining upon the white stone, the people bustling about their own affairs, children playing in the streets. Here and there the city is studded with small gardens and trees, their brilliantly verdant foliage and many coloured flowers making the white stones from which this fortress is built seem all the brighter.

He loved this city, gave his life to defend it. It was his heart, his very soul. He was so defiant when I met him in Imladris. Oh, but that seems an age passed! I remember the proud stance, the uplifted chin, the challenge in his eyes. Here was a man strong and assured. He made me feel all the more unworthy of retaking the kingship. How could I ever love Minas Tirith more then he? He, who had been raised there, had fought and gave of his own blood to protect her.

There had always been that slight unease between us. He was the one who belonged to the city, who was born and bred to rule it; I who had wandered far from her borders for so many years, yet was of the blood of the line of Kings. We both new this, could sense it moving between us, always keeping us just that little apart; even as we grew closer during our hard journey, grew to be comrades and brothers in arms.

I can still remember his quiet despair in Lothlorien. I saw him there one night, sitting at the base of a great Mallorn, shoulders slumped and weary. I felt drawn to him then, felt a need to comfort and assuage his fears; but when he turned his haunted face towards me I could say naught. All I could do was try to give comfort just in my presence as he spoke of his fears for the White City. I remember then, his face turned towards me, his hand reached out to clasp at my arm as he spoke with a renewed strength and hope, _'One day our path shall lead us there, and the tower guard shall take up the call; the lords of Gondor have returned'_. Those heartfelt words still echo through my memory.

It was a fine clear sky, nearing the hour of sunset, upon Parth Galen that fateful day. I think that I lost a little of myself then. My decisions, my leadership; I questioned both sharply after those horrendous events. Frodo and Sam gone to Mordor alone, Merry and Pippin taken prisoner by the foul Uruk-Hai, and Boromir.... Oh Boromir, he who died too young! I have never forgotten the sight that greeted me under the tall trees there, upon Amon Hen. I can still so vividly see him fallen, pierced by evil black arrows. His breath was gasping and ragged, pain and sorrow were in his eyes. I promised him that day that I would not let Minas Tirith fall, nor the world of men fail. I tried to comfort him as best I could, tried to ease his pain. _'My brother, my captain, my King'_. I did not feel worthy of such words, not after failing so.

One final image, so vividly clear in my mind even now, is of the sight of Boromir laid within the elven boat. His face was so soft, so peaceful. I realized then that I had never truly seen him so before, not even in sleep. His shield we placed above his head, his cloven horn and broken sword by him, the weapons of his vanquished foes we laid at his feet. His dark hair was soft about his shoulders, and Galadriel's golden belt gleamed at his waist. He was like a great King of old, lordly and wise.

Yes, it was my fault that he died upon Amon Hen that day. Throughout our journey I noticed him, watched him. Though he tried to hide it so valiantly, with every day that passed, the ring was weighing ever heavier on his mind and soul. I witnessed all of this; the strain that he was under. Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, I would catch sight of his face momentarily clouded over by some desperate inner struggle, his hand passing wearily over his brow, even at times a small shake of his head as if he were trying to clear his thoughts. His eyes became dulled but for when the ring was discussed, or his gaze fell upon Frodo. His nightly slumber grew ever more restless until I doubt that he slept at all. Yes, I witnessed all of this and yet I did nothing. It was my fault.

I am an old man, tempered by many years. I have been blessed with a loving and devoted wife, dutiful, caring children, and a wealth of great friends. I have lived to see this kingdom rejoice one again in splendor and freedom. I have provided an heir who I believe will be just and kind to his people and his city; I have great faith in Eldarion. Now it is my time to pass from this world. I feel the life beginning to drain from me. My body is slowly weakening, and I would chose to go now before my mind too is encumbered by age. Arwen pleads with me to stay; but I cannot. My time has truly come at last. I shall lay myself down upon my final resting place and welcome that peaceful sleep.

Maybe I will meet him again beyond the confines of this mortal world. I wish it to be so. I shall clasp his arms in my hands, embrace him once again, and tell him all that has passed here in his fair city (that I have kept my promise), and once again I shall see that warm fire within his eyes.


End file.
